


Journey

by Dacia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Centaurs, Dragons, Elves, F/M, Gen, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Multi, Multiple Partners, Original Mythology, Original Universe, Other, Phoenixes, Polyamory, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Sirens, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 17:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacia/pseuds/Dacia
Summary: The path veers through joy and sorrow, through dreams and memories - and somewhere inbetween time's breaths, there's home.Or, an introspective treatise as our protagonist loves and lets go, and finds himself.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 5
Collections: Droid's short stories





	Journey

The sun has not risen fully yet. Lyn absently notes that his bones are freezing despite the blanket of thick black fur covering him. He tugs at the furs and tries not to think. 

“There are easier ways to die.”

Lyn keeps his eyes on his fingers that seem unable to grab the blanket properly. The cloth keeps on slipping through his hands. And then he has to stop trying because another hand grabs on to his own.

“It was not planned.” He tells Cordath, looking at the long fingers that has both his wrists in a single grasp. 

He wonders if the dragon will ask him more. He waits for the rebukes, the reprimands. He waits for the cold to settle in again.

Lyn remembers waiting even as he falls asleep to the warmth of the blanket and the arms around him. 

* * *

Umiete is a fierce, roaring torrent of water, streaking down the side of Riraht mountain. Lyn stands at the edge of the precipice and looks at dragonlings playing at a distance. 

“Do you want to jump?”

Lyn does not answer. Cordath is leaning over the edge, peering at the water.

“You should visit the ocean.” 

Lyn looks at the dragon and Cordath laughs at his confused face. His laughter makes no sound, though Lyn blames the river for that. 

He listens to Cordath’s silent laughter and thinks of the ocean.

* * *

“The ocean will tell you whether to live or to die.” Cordath tells him. 

Lyn wonders how Cordath knows. And then he wonders why the dragon cares. He does not ask, but Cordath answers him. 

“It did for me.” Lyn looks at him till he smiles tiredly and speaks again. “I lost my treasure.”

Lyn waits for him to say more, even though he is not sure he wants to hear more. Cordath smiles again and does not speak till the farewell.

“May the wind be your wings.”

Lyn does not look back and waits for the wind to bring that whisper to him again. 

* * *

  


The forest of Virneiros sings with colours. Lyn is blinded by the light filtering through the branches overhead and he breathes in the scent of crushed pine needles, sunlight, flowers and the lilt of elven tongue that he does not understand. He lets Alaeth, an elf with gold eyes, spin him around in another dance.

The waves of Umiete is calmer here. The elves call her Ilsevel and sing to her all the time. Lyn listens to their liquid words tumbling over each other to sing like a bubbling fountain. He forgets how long he has stayed in Virneiros and he smiles and laughs with the bright eyed forest dwellers. 

* * *

Autumn comes with a sharp tang of gold and brown. Lyn shivers with the evening breeze and remembers a dragon with warm hands and smiling eyes. 

He spends the night awake and refusing to remember the time before the dragon.

In the morning he looks at the forest and sees the fallen leaves. He looks at the elves, at Mereith, Elmer, Lythion, at Ysmer, Nyma and Lydion. He watches them flitting through the forest, dancing to the waves of wind, gliding about untouched by the world around them, and he chokes.

“I can not stay.” Lyn tells Fayeth, “This feels like home and I need to leave before it is not home any more.” 

The dark haired elf walks silently and looking at his impassive visage, Lyn wants to claw out his own tongue.

He does not know what to say. The realisation is as bitter as it has been over the last hour when he has tried to find words to explain why he is leaving. 

He tries again and again to speak and the words die half-formed on the tip of his tongue. And he can not tell the elf that he needs to leave before he changes too much, like all humans does, and before the elves, the unchanging ones, stop being beautiful and become a cage. Lyn tries and can not tell Fayeth that he wants to protect this memory that is built with fragile wisps of dream.

He stops trying to speak. And Fayeth does not ask.

It is more than a week of travel, and of waking up from restless sleeps with Fayeth keeping watch over him, that finally makes Lyn think that may be the elf always knew the words Lyn could not speak.

He sees the amused light in the elf’s eyes and wants to shove him in the river. 

Lyn sleeps deeply that night and wakes up smiling.

* * *

  


The sky looms vast above the rolling grasslands of Yin-la. Lyn feels the moving muscles under his thighs as the centaur he is riding picks up the pace and he breathes in the afternoon sun dripping with sweat across Cayrinth’s neck.

The centaurs are different than the elves. Lyn thinks that they are somehow more solid, more present with their dust covered coats and naked bodies and loud laughter than the elves or the dragons have been with their simmering, gentle beauty. He can understand the rough tongue of the centaurs no more than he understood the elven song-like words, but he finds the abrupt and blunt voices to be comforting and safe to touch. He does not think he will miss this.

Lyn wonders if Fayeth knows his thought and does not dare to meet his eyes to find out. There is a sour taste of guilt in the back of his tongue when he thinks how uncomfortable Fayeth must be among people so unlike his own. He does not look at the elf who has left the forest for Lyn and counts the stars overhead every night, hoping that Fayeth does not hate him for losing their path and having to join the centaurs.

* * *

  


Lyn watches Devenis grappling against a lynx with a single dagger. When she returns, she is covered with blood of both the animal’s and her own. The centaurs neigh and stomp their hooves in a throbbing beat as the blood drips from Devenis’s body on to the ground to begin the celebration of the night of Aporihath. Lyn does not move as Devenis comes to him and he does not close his eyes when he tastes the blood on her tongue. When she picks him up to put him on her back, he presses his palms over her waist and drags them over her breasts and traces the lines of her shoulders and back. He feels the slick blood running down his fingers.

Lyn returns at dawn and sees Fayeth burying the still carcasses of the dead animals. He watches the elf caressing each grave and murmuring to them. He listens to the sorrowful sighs of the mourning song that Fayeth sings over the graves. He looks at the flakes of blood under his nails as Fayeth comes over.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of dawn and home as the elf rubs away the blood staining his skin with a wet cloth. The taste of guilt fills his mouth and he refuses to move away from where he has his face pressed against Fayeth’s neck. He waits for the elf to push him away.

When the arms come up to hold him close, Lyn feels the sobs tearing out through his throat. The tears come in muted gasps and he is faintly aware of the centaurs waking from their sleep and coming over. He refuses to move and hopes that he is not getting blood on Fayeth.

When the sky darkens to the dark blue of night, Lyn raises his head from where it has been resting on Fayeth’s lap and asks him if he hates the centaurs. What he really wants to ask is if the elf hates him, but he can not bring himself to listen to that answer. He remembers why he was avoiding meeting the dark eyes as Fayeth looks at him silently. 

“I do not.” Fayeth speaks after a long moment and Lyn’s surprise must be obvious in his face because the elf laughs. Lyn finds the numb weight on his chest lessening as he listens to that laughter. 

“I am more familiar with them than you.” the elf tells him. “There is more blood on my hands than all those half-horses’ put together.” 

Lyn remembers him digging graves for the dead animals with bare hands. He looks at the shadows across Fayeth’s eyes in the firelight. 

“You have been avoiding them.”

Lyn wants to look away and can not. He sees the herd listening to their conversation from the corner of his eyes and keeps his eyes on the firelight.

“You are avoiding them as you were avoiding me.” Fayeth sounds gently amused and Lyn wants to stop hearing that faint note of disappointment. “You will meet many new races in your travels and most of them will not get along with each other. Do you plan to avoid your friends and wallow in guilt for the rest of your life?”

Lyn stares at him. “But I made you uncomfortable.” He stutters, words half-caught as though he has forgotten how to form them. “I made us lose the path and that is why we are with the centaurs and you do not like blood and...”

“Does all humans have this big a sense of responsibility or is it just you?”

Lyn reddens and blinks against the sudden bout of hurt burning his eyes. He feels Fayeth sighing and petting his head.

“I wanted to see the world through your eyes.” 

Lyn looks at the elf smiling at him. He lets the fingers on his hair caress him as he listens to the gentle voice.

“You will see many other races.” Fayeth tells him. “Your only responsibility is to be true to yourself. And”, he smiles at the centaurs around them and Lyn thinks Fayeth is glowing with starlight, “the world is brighter for that diversity. Do not rue the lack of similarity among your friends.” He speaks with music in his voice and his eyes glow brightly. “We are all walking towards the ocean.”

* * *

Lyn bids the centaurs farewell as the gates of Avrinthis darken the horizon. Each centaur embraces him and kisses his cheeks. He breathes in the touches and keeps them with the memory of blood slipping through his fingers. Lyn remembers Fayeth telling him that the elves bid farewell to their family in a similar manner.

“I will return with them to the forest.” The elf tells Lyn and Lyn tries to swallow back the lump choking him.

Then Fayeth kisses his mouth and Lyn tastes the pine needles and sunlight on his tongue. He grabs the hand trying to brush away his tears, refusing to care whether his nails draw blood from Fayeth’s palm. He drinks in the taste of the elf till his chest burns from lack of air. 

He looks on as the centaurs become dust clouds in the distance before turning towards Avrinthis. The cooling tear tracks on his cheeks, the burn on his lips and the ache ripping through his tongue – he places them carefully, tenderly, among the memories of sunlight and laughter.

* * *

Lyn runs a finger down the inscription over his mother’s grave and remembers smiling brown eyes and dark hair and a warm hand holding his own. He opens his eyes and steps away from the crumbling headstone.

He looks at the pavements with cracks and listens to the humming noise of the city. He remembers running through these streets, away from the voices cursing him for being different. He remembers swallowing his tears so that his mother will not worry. He remembers being thrown out of Avrinthis for having magic. He remembers beating on the city gates begging to be let in as the sky blazed with the flames rising from his house. He remembers his mother’s screams within the flames.

The woman with golden braid and blue eyes follows him as he walks towards the city gate. Lyn listens to her breaths and remembers her singing to him. The memory feels like that of another life.

He looks at her with a silent question.

“I did not forget.” She answers him and he nods. “You did not either.”

Her eyes are dim and far away. Lyn sees the orange glow of twilight bathing her and imagines her burning. He pushes the image away.

“You buried her.” 

“I burned her.” She tilts her head and looks at him. “Will you burn me?”

He looks at her pale cheeks and tired lines under her eyes. He thinks he can see the flames that haunt her within their blank abyss.

“I came to say farewell.” He tells her. “Not for vengeance.” 

Lyn watches despair running through her face and for a moment he wants to be cruel and turn away. Then he remembers his mother smiling and feels a wave of tiredness. 

“You should sleep.” He keeps his eyes on the red tinted horizon and hopes that his words do not hurt her. “She never would have blamed you. “

“And you?”

He looks back at her and sees her glistening eyes. He remembers loving her.

“I do not either. Not any more.” He tells her and is surprised to realise the truth in his own words. 

Lyn looks at his childhood home one more time. He looks at the tired woman standing in the evening shadow. He steps out of the city gate and feels the wind lightening his steps. 

Lyn hears his mother’s voice laughing in that wind.

* * *

The eyes that follow him are dark with suspicion. Lyn ignores them and keeps his eyes fixed on the thin stream of Ilsevel at the distance. 

Not Ilsevel, Zoya. He reminds himself. The traders he has been travelling with told him the name. They also told him to avoid the phoenix tribes who dislike humans. He has managed to forget both. 

Lyn wonders about the reasons behind the distrustful eyes but does not ask. Once they have realized the lack of weapon on his person, the phoenixes have been rather gracious in allowing him to pass. But too many questions may cause them to retract that goodwill and Lyn thinks that he will prefer to avoid being tied up again.

But he can not help sneaking a few glances at his hosts. The phoenixes are beautiful with their golden skin, silver hair and a fierce pride that rises around them like wings. Even the children, few as they are, have blazing eyes that mesmerises Lyn. 

He tries not to look too often when he realises that the phoenixes are irritated by his glances, but knows that he has failed. He hears Arion, one of the younger phoenixes, chuckling after catching Lyn peeking at him, and though Lyn’s face burns, Arion’s laughter is contagious and he finds himself smiling.

Arion accompanies him to the caves they call Ziophylus. 

“Zoya passes through these caves.” The phoenix tells Lyn. “Do not enter them. No one who does so ever returns. Go around the caves. It will be a longer path, but you will be safe.”

Lyn nods and smiles as the phoenix grasps his elbow in farewell. He waits till Arion vanishes from sight before leaving.

* * *

The path around the caves is long, and Lyn decides to rest for a night before continuing on. He looks at the direction of the nest and sees smoke rising in the distance. He starts running before he can remember the flames burning his home. He chokes back the scream rattling in his rib cage and runs, begging to gods he does not believe in.

He smells the burnt flesh before seeing the blood. He sees broken and twisted bodies on the ground. Zuha, Laeda, Tahir. The names come to him in whispers of burnt feathers. He sees a man stabbing Arion.

Lyn’s magic tears through him with a scream. The power whips across the ground and turns the attackers into dust and ashes. Lyn feels himself screaming as the magic burns through his blood. 

He crawls to Arion as soon as his body listens to him. He tastes ash in his mouth and tries not to choke.

“The adult phoenixes will be reborn.” Drionne tells him as Lyn cradles the egg left behind by Arion.

“They will not remember their previous life.” He listens silently. “But they will live.”

“The children will not return.” 

Lyn helps the phoenixes in building pyres for the children. There are about seven phoenixes left standing. There are ten pyres to be built.

He listens as Drionne tells him about how the slavers attack them for their feathers and hearts. “They believe eating the hearts and ashes of the feathers will give them long life and health. It is a superstition.” Drionne sounds tired and empty as she places the fifth body on the pyre. The child is small and fragile over the hard logs. Lyn brushes away the ashes and dust falling on the boy’s forehead. There is a gaping wound from his throat to naval, and Lyn wishes he could pretend that the child was sleeping. 

Lyn watches the tiny bodies burning on the pyres and follows the smoke with his eyes as it rises towards the stars. He can not remember their names, he realises.

He stays till the last pyre has turned into ashes. Then he visits Arion’s egg.

“It will be a year before it hatches.” Drionne tells him. “But you killed the slavers and we will be safe now.” 

Lyn stops listening before she can thank him and wonders why she is not speaking of the death magic he has used. He wonders if she does not realise that the magic he carries is a curse and that he has probably brought this fate upon her nest by just passing through the place.

He wonders if Arion knew that in his last moments and feels glad that he will not remember Lyn.

He leaves before dawn without waking anyone. This time he does not take the path around the caves. He enters them.

* * *

The shallow stream of Zoya is almost silent in the caverns. Lyn keeps a hand over the slime covered walls and walks though mud and debris covering the ground. He keeps his eyes trained on the darkness before him and refuses to think till he stumbles and hears a pained cry from the ground.

The creature is beautiful, even under the sickly green light emanating from the moss of the cave ceilings – the only light source in the tunnels. He is also dying and Lyn does not know what to do. 

He carries the almost weightless body till he finds a clear stream of water and tries to drip the liquid on the colourless lips. To his relieved surprise, the creature trembles at the first touch of water and his skin brightens to a flush. Lyn considers the body in his arms for a moment and then puts him in the shallow stream and feels a thrum of satisfaction running through him as the creature comes to life, turning and twisting himself to dip in the water completely and comes up with flushed skin glistening under the water rivulets running past a pair of bright feline eyes.

Lyn stops moving as the creature smiles at him and sings.

* * *

He watches as the creature he saved sings and laughs with more of his kind. Lyn calls him Nerea in his head.  Light . It is the language of his mother’s cradle-songs. Has he been able to converse with the creature, he would not have remembered her songs. He is glad he has not forgotten her voice.

He listens to Nerea sing and stops trying to remember more. He absently wonders if there is anything to remember but then Nerea begins to sing another song, one that makes his eyes burn, and he lets himself forget.

He sees Nerea moving away and follows him. He feels tired and sluggish. Briefly he notes that Nerea is alone. He hears the song turning into a sob and flinches. The caverns around him echo with a grieving cry, and he realises that Nerea’s people are singing. Or perhaps they are crying. He wants them to stop.

He stumbles over himself and as he falls to his knees, he sees bones spread around himself under the green light of the tunnels. Around him, Nerea’s sobbing song echoes.

The memories return in flashes and aches. He sees Cordath’s hand around his own and hears his mother screaming in the flames. The flames suffocate him as small bodies burn underneath his hands and he sees himself spreading the black veins of death magic around Arion’s fallen body. He gasps and tries to breathe, focussing on the song echoing around him and he sees Devenis’s blood clad body glistening in the moonlight, slick and strong under his palms. And the moonlight seeps in his skin as he tastes the crushed pine needles and sunlight and Fayeth whispers his name against his lips.

* * *

Lyn follows the ripples in the water while keeping his eyes firmly in front of him. Nerea is the only one in the water, and Lyn knows that if he turns to look, he will find nothing but the black expanse of the stream. 

He does not try. He is grateful to Nerea for returning him his senses and his memories and will not misplace them again.

Lyn stops when the ripples stop. He can see faint sunlight at a distance and sees that the stream of Zoya has started to widen as the rivulets through various tunnels join together.

Lyn thinks of the glowing feline eyes and the grieving song. 

“Thank you.” He speaks without looking behind and believes that Nerea is listening and will understand his meaning, if not the words. 

“The memories you returned to me, I did not know what they truly meant till they became music on your lips.”

Lyn smiles as the water splashes behind him. He closes his eyes as a pair of soft hands stroke his cheeks. He keeps that touch with gentle care, wrapped within the greenish light of grief around the memory of the glowing feline eyes.

He waits till the hands recede and the ripples fade away before opening his eyes. As he walks towards the faint light at the end of the tunnel, there is an echo of a song speaking of home and farewell behind him.

* * *

The ocean stretches before Lyn and he breathes in the sky and the salty tang of waves. 

He looks at the sun dipping towards the horizon and wades in the water. The cold water is sudden and he gasps back a laugh. The water rises swiftly and he swims towards the sun.

There is a sudden movement around him and he dips down. The world is dark with pale streams of light underneath the water. Lyn sees a pair of mermaids peering at him. 

They are young . Lyn watches as the two children glide around him and feels a bubble of amusement rising as they poke and prod at his legs with great curiosity. 

Soon he has to rise, gasping for breath as his head breaks the water surface. 

The children rise with him and Lyn lets them drag him by hand towards a rocky area that has risen above the sea. They vanish under the waves as he reaches the boulders.

Lyn climbs up the rocks and sits down, leaning back. The sky above him is an expanse of red, orange and gold. Lyn fixes his eyes at the horizon, where the sun has half-drowned itself and has painted the waves crimson with its light. 

He sees shadowy shapes under the waves and smiles, recognising the two children he met earlier. Lyn lets the fading sunlight burn itself on his eyes, feels the memories rising to embrace him and drowns in the voices singing underneath the ocean. 

**Author's Note:**

> twt @sphinxdroid
> 
> You can find my original fictions - this one and others, here :- 
> 
> https://sphinxdroid.wixsite.com/droidtranslations/work
> 
> Eventually I will posting nearly all my original works there, along with some danmei translations - so do drop by.


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